


Drowning The Greys

by plant_boi_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/pseuds/plant_boi_potter
Summary: Harry Potter's life is a mess.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry scrubbed his fingers down his jaw, soft, brown hands catching on the coarse stubble. His hands had become more pliant in the years he'd had off the field, God, years. The words felt tangy in his mouth as he surveyed how much he'd changed while hunched behind the hulking desk of a secretary. 

When he'd initially taken up office as Head Auror, he knew it wouldn't be the interchangeable position that he'd been promised - just like working in the field, but with more power over your inferiors - but he didn't think the difference would be as drastic as it was. At least that's what he kept telling himself. His stomach had filled out yet again and, while he was by no means overweight, he definitely wasn't as lithe as he once had been. All the straight lines and the hard angles had given way to a more rounded appearance. Almost a facade of Harry Potter. Some days, he felt more like Cornelius Fudge than he would like to admit. 

A slight knock drew Harry out of his thoughts. 'Constant Vigilance', Alistair Moody muttered somewhere to the left of his mind, just outside of conscious thought. Clearing his throat, Harry drew all the authority he could muster at 9 o' clock on a Wednesday afternoon.   
"Come in."

"Harry Potter, sir?" Harry sighed in relief. Sometimes new interns and Auror Trainees were sent to him and he had to deal with the awkward awe they subjected him to. This time, however, it was none of the above. 

"What can I do for you Dorothy?"   
Dorothy Harold was a withered old woman who’d seemingly been working for the Ministry since the early 1900's. As soon as he'd been appointed Head Auror she'd become Harry's permanent 'advisor'.

"Unfortunately, I have more paperwork for you lovely. I did take a little peek as the top one wasn't labelled anything silly like 'Private and Confidential.' And, I've told you several times, call me Dora." The soft voice she used was offset by the clicking of her tongue - a habit she'd gained whilst still a secretary under other Ministry officials, she'd confided. 

Harry couldn't bring himself to call her Dora. Even now. 

Dorothy seemed to move around the Ministry performing various roles for various people, with backgrounds in sectorial work, teaching and numerous other data collection work, she was what some would call a gossip. It was a wonder she hadn't been sacked. Then again, it would be hard to, considering that she'd been there to see at least seven different Ministers rise to - and fall from - power. He didn't have a problem with her reading his paperwork, he secretly believed she knew more than he did about it anyway, since he was only given what he had to know. Anything else, well, that was the Minister's business. 

The plush carpet masked the footfalls of her low heeled boots and soon she was stood near enough to Harry's desk to easily deposit the small stack of paper. He would have thanked her for giving him something to do, if not for the two piles currently on his desk. Two pieces of ripped parchment seemed to be spell-o-taped to what should look like mesh filing trays. Both of which were perched either side of his new computer. 

It was Hermione's idea, of course. She had insisted he at least try to be like her. Organised, she'd called it. Harry just thought they took up desk space he needed. Needed to do what exactly? Stretch? Tap his fingers on the wood?

"Stop that!" Dorothy glared at his right hand, nails bitten down to the quick, rising and falling against the edge of his desk. Harry only barely noticed he was tapping out a Muggle tune he'd heard. 

Harry concealed his burgeoning smile, ceasing his tapping only to pick up the papers Dorothy had tossed on his desk.  
"Sorry." 

He eyed the 'finished' pile, despairing at how thin it was. Resolving to not just shove the new sheets he'd been handed at the bottom of the 'unfinished' pile and forget about them (again), Harry swivelled around in his chair. He pushed his glassed up the ridge of his nose before eyeing the notes before him. 

His eyes dragged over typed lettering, the words just missing their target of absorption into his brain. Harry shook his head, dark hair brushing about halfway down his lenses. However long and unkempt it was, it would never truly be enough to hide the scar. Or the memories that came with it. 

Swallowing another sip of strong coffee, Harry groaned inwardly. He glared at the papers in his hand until the words started to make sense. It was another case file, not unlike the rest, sort of. 

Dorothy, who had tottered off and poured herself a hot tea, came back to squint over Harry's shoulder. She almost looked as if she hadn't moved from her position at all. Peering at him with fascinated, milky eyes, she smiled. "I think this case is yours, dear. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"Mine?" 

"Yes, dear." Dorothy looked like a doting grandmother, coddling her sweet tea like a child. She carried on, explaining as if Harry couldn't read. (He might as well have not been able to, considering how he'd barely scanned the documents in front of him.) "There's no stains you see. The paper is all perfectly pressed, like ironing. Oh, and it has your name on it." She gestured towards the whole stack of paper, not just the top sheave. She banged the door shut - probably intentionally - on her way out, ensuring Harry elbowed his coffee off the doddering perch he called "empty space" on his cramped table. 

She was right of course. If Harry had read the file as intended, he would have seen that his name was, indeed printed in block letters on the last sheet. However, he had run through the details rather quickly, assuming it would be passed over to the Aurors below him or another department of the Magical Law Enforcement. And did he have to show for that carelessness? An empty coffee mug and wet robes. Harry cursed at himself before casting a quick cleaning charm over his thighs. 

the thick wad of papers into a folder, Harry pushed his chair back roughly and stood up. Tucking his wand into his robes, he made his way to the door, file tucked under his arm and empty mug in hand. He pressed his back against the heavy panelling until it gave way to his unrelenting shoulders. 

He almost never got field work anymore, but the few times he was called upon for it, it was bad - very bad. He wasn't sure whether to be excited or worried.   
It turned out to be the latter.

***

The hall echoed as Harry made his way towards the lift at the end of the second floor. It was far too dark, and Harry gazed wearily at the flickering strip lights overhead. He walked faster, determined not to jump when one of the lights above sparked and, ultimately blew itself out. 

"Morning Mister Potter, sir!"   
Harry's best attempt at a smile turned up a grimace as Richard Heath from Floo Maintenance (and Networking) whirled past him in the other direction, paying no mind to the flickering lights and ghostly inactivity of the hallway. How anyone could be that cheerful at such an early hour, Harry would never know. 

Arriving on time was never Harry's strong suit, and it was on an even rarer occasion that he arrived early. However, the universe must have looked upon him with some grain of pity after the incident with the coffee, (that, and the fact that he was almost running through the Curse Breaking Department in order to avoid no-one in particular) because he did, in fact, have to wait outside the Minister's door for a full five minutes before being let inside. 

Shacklebolt sat atop the seat as a king might sit atop a throne, it suited him quite well and Harry had grown used to the way he scratched at the underside of his desk with his pencil when he was frustrated. Unfortunately, he was doing just that almost constantly now. And even Harry - who was still an unobservant bloke by all standards - had noticed. (It was a wonder at all that he'd passed General Training - let alone become Head of anything). 

"Harry."   
The illusion of invitation was inviting enough and, on some level, even more warm than usual. For the past year and a half Harry felt like he was back in the Auror Academy; or even Hogwarts, for the amount of times he was called into office for unwarranted behaviour. But looking at the Minister's expression, Harry wished more than ever that he'd just been caught Apparating while drunk. 

The Minister's face was grave as he glanced down at the file Harry still had clutched in his hands, held before him like a child holding a stuffed bear. The grating sounds of the pencil stopped. 

Harry was shocked out of his thoughts at the subsequent snapping of said pencil.   
"Mr. Potter?" All the warm undertones of Shacklebolts rolling voice were gone. "Meeting. Ten thirty-five. Sharp."

"Yes, Minister."

****

"I'm sure you're aware why you're all here." 

Shacklebolt looked around the room and Harry suddenly seemed to realise the long table had filled with people. Most were from his own Department, Aurors that had been under him for two years or more - including Ron Weasley, who gave him a subtle wink from across the table. 

Upon closer inspection - Harry called it an inspection but he was really trying to stay awake - he was coffee-less and Shacklebolt's voice was drawling - he saw a lot of faces he knew. A smattering of other staff members were in place too; Curse Breakers, some people from the Improper Use of Magic Offices... some people he didn't recognise, their robes being a colour he hadn't encountered. A few wizards from the Department of Mysteries were also loitering about the entrance.

Unsuccessfully trying to hide a shudder that spread through him, Harry turned back to the head of the table, where Shacklebolt's eyes were pinned to him. 

"Ah, I'm glad you were listening after all Auror", Shacklebolt chuckled, but the sound was as hollow as Harry's heart, which might as well have dropped out of his chest completely. "What would you suggest?" Dark eyes pierced him to his chair and Harry had a suspicion that even if he could draw his attention away from the imposing man, he'd be confronted with a lot of expectant faces instead. 

Swallowing thickly, Harry crossed his fingers under the table. "I suggest asking Auror Pines first, sir." 

Shacklebolt narrowed his eyes for a split second before whirling around, fixing his gaze on Pines. Harry glanced at her, hoping to convey how sorry he was to be putting her in this position. It was her first year on the force, she was barely out of the Academy before they'd assigned her to work under Weasley's faction of Aurors. 

She was a small girl, the mousey brown hair she sported currently pulled into a tight ponytail. It made her look young and the way she shrank back into her ministry issued robes made Harry feel guilty.

"I, um - uh, I think- I think that we'd be vulnerable with too many scouts sir." Her pale green eyes darted around the table. When no one interuppted - to disagree or otherwise - she continued, "the operation would have to be low-profile until we know what we're dealing with." 

Shacklebolt nodded, sitting back in his seat. During Rebecca's little speech, he'd leant forward in his seat, hands on his chin, listening raptly. Harry thought he'd have pointed out inconstancies - since that was what he'd done with Harry the first time a higher-up had denoted something to him. 

"Do you conclude the same, Auror Potter?"   
Harry hoped his flush didn't reach down the back of his neck at the realisation that he was probably just incompetent. 

"Um- yes, actually, two to six scouts would be best-"

Kingsley still didn't look entirely convinced that Harry had heard the briefing, but he seemed to have answered well enough that he couldn't be questioned further until alone. The possibility of which left him simultaneously relieved and terrified.

Before further discussion could begin, the door was flung open and all heads turned to see a (slightly sweaty) Draco Malfoy approach the table, he slipped into his seat without a word, flicking hair that had plastered to his forehead, not unflatteringly, out of his eyes.   
Kingsley paid no mind, continuing with the discussion. 

Harry was slightly furious at that. If he'd done it - 

His thoughts were cut short as a lightness to Kingsley's originally grim tone caught his attention. "And Mister Malfoy, I'm so happy to see you're the first to volunteer for Scout Duty!"  
Harry was delighted to note Draco's look of absolute horror at the prospect.

"Anyone else?" The faux cheer in his voice continued around the room as other people made their excuses and the men from the Department of Mysteries seemed to vanish. "AH!" His eyes swivelled over Harry's head as he seemed to spot someone at the other end of the room. Harry seemed almost smug until Shacklebolt's booming voice came back to life.

"Auror Potter! Brilliant of you to allow Mister Malfoy here to join your case!" Harry's self-righteous smirk dropped from his face. He should have seen it coming. All the signs had been there, (including his name, printed in bold, black ink on the back of his case notes). He was an idiot, sometimes. Dorothy often reminded him he was what was known as unobservant. It wasn't a word that settled his stomach when he thought about all the Dark Wizard catching that lay ahead. 

He wished for a polite, adult way he could bang his head on the desk in front of him. Sadly, there was not, so he settled for a sullen frown instead before clearing up his paperwork and moving to leave. He stole a glance at Malfoy, who had managed to catch his eye from where he was standing. Thankfully, he didn't look all too thrilled at the predicament now that it had sunk in that he'd have to actually work with Harry. 

***

They'd always had a rocky relationship, but since the War (and everything that had transpired since), Harry and Draco were on nodding terms - that is to say, if nodding terms also includes taking the long way round to the Atrium once or twice a week to avoid all civilities altogether. 

Draco definitly didn't carry his name as well as his father had and it showed all too much, especially in Harry's presence. It's glaringly obvious by how uncomfortably he was squirming in his seat. Harry had the odd inclination to move his chair forward and make sure there was as little space as possible between himself and Draco - just to see how the poor sod would react. 

Fortunately for Draco, the table was sandwiched haphazardly between them. He looked over the desk, down his thin nose at Harry.   
"I know you disapprove of House Elves but this is ridiculous!"

"What's ridiculous?" Harry hummed as he licked his index finger, peeling a piece of paper from the top of his pile of unfinished work.

Draco huffed and gestured to the mess. "You have an office, that the Ministry so kindly supplied to you, and you let it get like this. I think if a bomb exploded in here you wouldn't notice much of a difference." 

Harry snorted and pulled a pen from under the shambles of an overstuffed desk drawer. 

"What's that?" 

"A pen?" Harry answered sounding slightly amused.

"Why don't you just use a quill like the rest of us?"

"Just because Hogwarts keeps up an aesthetic from the 1800's doesn't mean I have to." Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if he couldn't use a self writing quill, he just preferred the Muggle way of doing things sometimes. (A lot of the time, recently - it used to drive Ginny up the wall). 

They sat in silence for longer than was comfortable. Harry was the first to break it. "What can I do for you, Malfoy?"   
His tone wasn't unpleasant, but a certain childhood insolence had snuck it's way into the childhood nickname, he wasn't sure he could actually help it, after all this time. Some habits died hard, at least that's what he told himself. Although, he wasn't sure if he could be so forgiving if Malfoy took on the same tone. He also wouldn't be surprised. 

Pulling himself together, he tried again. "We're going to have to be civil if we're going to work together on this case; do you have the notes?"  
"Of course I have the notes, Potter." Draco decided he wasn't going to point out that he was the only one remaining civil because as soon as he said it it would contradict his original statement and he wasn't a hypocrite. 

He wasn't anymore, he amended thoughtfully. After the last battle everything had changed. He had Potter to thank for his place at the Ministry and Potter to thank for his Azkaban ruling. Always Potter.   
"Well, not always..." 

Potter hummed in acknowledgement. He had actually heard part of Draco's musings, and even if he didn't ask, it was still an invasion of his privacy. Draco would reprimand himself at home for speaking out of turn, but, as far as he was concerned, he was in Harry's office. Harry's office was Harry's space, not his, so everything bad that happened while there was Harry's fault, obviously.

"Malfoy?"  
Draco's head jerked up as if he'd just been caught with his head in someone else's pensieve.   
"The notes?"  
"Oh. yes." He'd been so wrapped up in himself that he hadn't had a chance to take the folder from his satchel. 

There wasn't optimal space for Harry's belongings on his desk, let alone Draco's. So he pushed his chair back to make room on his lap for the printed case notes. He hadn't questioned it when Shacklebolt had handed the papers to him, but now, he conceded it would have been a good idea to look over them in a private setting first. 

The sharp intake of breath he gave made Harry look up from the case he was examining. He pulled over a different stack of paper and grimaced. He knew why Draco had reacted as soon as his eyes hit the suspect list.   
The interrogation put the Slytherins first. 

"Hermione is trying to change it, you know." Harry said in an effort to quell the annoyance that flashed darkly across grey eyes.  
If it was possible Draco's eyes grew darker, and his lips turned upwards in a sour attempt at a smile. "Thank you." He managed before going back to his notes.

Harry had already read his, multiple times. It was about the only thing he'd done on schedule because it had been so long since a case had been so fascinating. And, it was his case, too. He hadn't had one of those in a long time either, which would have been disappointing, if he wasn't being paired up with Malfoy. He was reminded of a time in his Muggle school - primary - when all the children had to pick a partner and their teacher had instructed them to hold hands.   
Harry couldn't imagine holding hands with a Malfoy, Draco or otherwise. He pulled a face as Lucius crossed his mind. 

Harry jumped in shock as Draco's thin mouth opened, "Weren't thinking about my father were you Potter?" 

It had been quite some time since anyone had thought, or spoke of the elder Malfoy, but Draco recognised the disgusted face all the same, he remembered it in the testimony hall at Lucius' trial and again when Narcissa had begged for a shorter sentence/release two years ago. 

Draco watched Harry shiver, the movement going through his spine first, before it spread across to his right hand. 

He almost laughed at Harry's sour expression as a mug fell to the floor. 

Harry buried his head in his hands, propping his elbows on the paper scattered around his desk and moaned. "That's the second time today." He mumbled.  
Dorothy appeared not a moment later, almost as if Harry summoned her with his frustrated wailing. 

"Oh dear. You really need to do something about this mess, flower, no one can work in this." She affected the air of concern she always did with present guests, but she didn't keep it up for long. Neither man said anything when she pointedly rolled her her eyes before pulling her wand from the elastic of her skirt's waistband.   
"Tergeo". 

Glaring at Harry disapprovingly, Dorothy's eyes moved to Draco. She kept her eyes trained on him after she'd given him the once over. They'd never worked in the same sector - Dorothy favouring the higher-up's - but they'd crossed paths enough for her to know his name.   
"Malfoy, isn't it?" 

"Yes." It would have been said tersely, if it were directed at Harry, but this woman was nothing like Harry and she looked old enough to forget anyone's name, regardless of how infamous a death eater they were. 

"Harry talks about you all the time!" She didn't insinuate that what Harry had said about Draco was downright abhorrent at worst and unimaginatively petty at best. Harry didn't even try to correct her, or he would become a stuttering mess, and somehow, that was worse than Dorothy's false perkiness that she didn't seem to exhibit anywhere else. 

Harry fingered his collar underneath his robes before resolving to take them off altogether. With the three of them standing in the messy room, Harry felt both trapped and hot. It wasn't stifling by any means, but he took the opportunity to crack the window behind him anyway - if only to break away from Draco's uncomfortably blank eyes. 

Smiling at Draco, Dorothy glanced around the rest of the room before Harry heard her small heels clacking across the floor toward the front door of Harry's office. When he didn't look up, she made an extra effort to look imposing in the doorway. She managed it too, even with her short stature and her billowing skirt, the early afternoon sun that filtered through the window, glancing off Harry's paperwork and dissipating at her feet, leaving her as a shadowy hulk, her elbows elongating once she planted her hands squarely on her lower hips. She did look quite menacing, even Draco had to agree.

"Humph, honestly", she muttered under her breath as Harry continued to ignore her. "The things I do for you." Cutting herself off so she could concentrate, Dorothy raised her wand, citing several incantations that Harry had probably never used in his life. Slowly, his stacks of paperwork floated into neat, organised piles. 

"Hey! Now I won't know where anything is!" Harry protested, but he didn't try to counter Dorothy's cleaning spells. Instead, he and Draco watched in rapt fascination as she dispelled the dust from the windowsill and cast a quick reparo on an old stool in the corner, before transfiguring it into a footstool. 

Glowering at Harry, she turned towards the door again. "Make yourself comfortable then, ungrateful-". 

"Dorothy?" Draco sounded as though he was trying to talk to his mother when she had a particularly bad bout of forgetfulness and everything came out as a question. "I don't suppose you could make me a tea? Two sugars?" Nodding, Dorothy removed herself from Harry's office, letting the door shut with a bang.   
Harry looked mortified. "She's not senile you know." Malfoy just threw his head back and laughed

***

"I like her". Draco mumbled through his second cup of tea. Harry could practically taste the air thick with Draco's sugared tea. It was sickly. He wrinkled his nose and deigned to answer fully, although the noncommittal hum of assent seemed to appease Draco. He held his tongue from comment on Draco's appearance at the meeting. He did, however, speak when Draco brandished his wand. 

Harry almost sighed, thinking they'd end up in a childish fight as they had as, well, children. It almost ended that way.

He didn't quite know what to think when his possessions started rearranging themselves for a second time that day. A simple "Locomotor" from Draco had his entire room up in the air. Anything that wasn't tied to the floor was already making it's way across his room, things being re-positioned and re-stacked.   
"What the hell are you doing". It sounded almost inarticulate - adolescent in the way his voice rose and dipped, cracking in places it shouldn't at his age. 

"Rearranging," was Draco's only reply. Harry noticed that his hair was back to the way it had been in school, plastered to his skull like an official, not a school-boy, or, in this case, Harry's underclassman. He wondered briefly when Draco had had chance to right himself. Probably in the tea-room with Dorothy when Harry had been going through his file patterns. Draco had seemed to take too long chatting... 

Harry pulled himself from his thoughts, grappling for his wand, which was jammed in his front pocket and not the designated wand slot on his robes, as Draco's had been. Late afternoon light filtered through the curtains and down his wrist. 

Wearily, he pocketed his wand again.

Technically, Draco was under him. Not an Auror and certainly not a respected man in his field. Not that he wasn't talented, he was. He just wasn't trustworthy. The Ministry had taken a stab in the dark at many of their new employee's. No one wanted to work for a corrupt company and many had fled the country after the war. Whatever the reason, the Ministry now seemed to (unintentionally) comprise itself of two factions - those who worked there to make it a better place, and those who worked there to make themselves look like better people. Unfortunately, most of these people weren't the type to change, so many got put in a position like Draco's. 

Draco Malfoy, however, knew he had a better deal than most. Harry Potter was too noble and righteous to believe anyone was under him (deserved placement or not) and Draco himself, well, he just didn't like being thought of as a lesser person. It made him uneasy when he really scrutinised himself and determined it was probably necessary for redemption. 

Both men jumped involuntarily at the tea-trolley sound of Harry's wall clock. He'd affectionately given it the name in remembrance of the tinny, jangling sound (along with the accompanying squeaky wheels) of the metal trolley on the Hogwarts Express. Although, he didn't fancy telling Draco that. 

"It's six o' clock". Harry mumbled almost inaudibly. He was almost on repeat now, a constant that would drive his wife mad if she knew he was doing it. 

That was the image he left with, Ginny berating about quitting from 'that hell hole' and leaving the god forsaken place behind. She was always bright-eyed and starry when she came back from work, because she loved her job, and believed Harry should too. Well, a small smile played at his lips; she couldn't whinge when he told her he's been assigned a new case, well, hopefully. 

It turned out to be a double edged sword.


	2. Chapter 2

He forgot to tell Ginny about his new assignment or his charge, before he slogged up to bed that night. It was probably for the best. Although he didn't know it.

Ginny had been back and forth management attendances and tryouts and numerous other functions for weeks, but she still managed to make time for Harry and the kids. She was at home at least twice weekly, although a lot of the time it was to sleep, usually still half-dressed, mud streaked through her mussed red hair. 

Squinting at the clock she turned towards the exhausted form of her husband, pressing a messy, un-coordinated kiss to his forehead. She smiled as a sloppy grin covered the expanse of his face. 

Harry lapsed into small snores, breath falling steadily. His chest rose, pushing the blankets out slightly while he shifted around, looping his arm over her toned, bare back. Eventually, he stopped wriggling, hand settling over the expanse of her lower back, palm grazing her hipbone, as he always did. Only then did she satisfy herself with her much needed sleep.

***

He wondered whether there was ever such a thing as a gentle internal crisis because if so, that was exactly what he was doing.   
"Oh fuck I'm late". 

It shouldn't have cut through the air like that, the sound of her voice more grating than it had ever been before. Harry's fingers trailed the outside of his daughter's half finished orange juice listlessly as Ginny dropped a kiss to his forehead. He'd forgotten, of course he had, that she had an away game this month. He hadn't thought it was for a week yet. He gave her a tentative, weakly preserved smile before she left - for France. 

God. France. It felt like a lifetime away. Harry wasn't stupid - he knew it was only a bus journey, and it wouldn't be long. Gruelling maybe, but not long. He'd just assumed that if he didn't think about it his stomach wouldn't flip over when she left. This time though, it didn't, or not as much as usual. 

His head was too full of other things, like the case and Malfoy and his kids. His kids - how could he do this on his own? Of course, he'd done it before, sort of. But then he'd had his dull office hours and the Granger-Weasley household. Now he didn't. Hermione was campaigning around the country with a few other Ministry higher-ups and Ron was stuck in the same position as he was, albeit probably more stressful. Molly was looking after Rose and Hugo. If Harry remembered them as well as he thought he did, he definitly wouldn't want to impose. Those two were handful enough, without throwing his three into the mix with them. 

Harry wanted to kick himself. He still hadn't told Ginny about Malfoy. 

He rifled around the kitchen cupboards for something vaguely edible whilst trying not to think about how he didn't feel as much affection for Ginny as he should. He pushed it to the back of his mind, resolving that he was old and his job was pressing and he just had more to think about. She was still beautiful, in a fine lined sort of way. He still loved her just as much as the day he'd proposed. But it was just different now, that was all. 

Emptying half a tin of peaches into a glass bowl (the only one left in the cupboard), Harry lamented to himself for a further few minutes, cursing that his head was so full of Malfoy all of a sudden, probably because he'd moved his stuff without permission. He knew that he and Malfoy had to work together and he knew, in an offhanded sort of way, that that meant compromise. He did not know the compromise would be his desk and his belongings.

Draco had been quite amicable about the decision. Obviously. Harry snorted. It wasn't his stuff. 

He stabbed a peach, half-heartedly with a stainless steel fork. The two pieces of cutlery looked quite mismatched together - steel and glassware. It would have been laughable if they didn't work together so well. Harry laughed drily, yet again equating his situation with Malfoy. Always bloody Malfoy. 

Reflecting on it, he'd actually thought more about this job (and it's attachments) more than he'd thought about Ginny's cross leagues match. Was he so consumed with his job that he was neglecting his wife? Or was he so consumed with his wife that he was trying to push himself harder so he'd actually concentrate on his job. 

Trying to kid himself that he'd be fired if he didn't actually work was something Harry had to do a lot these days. To his dismay, he was both old enough, and wise enough to know that it didn't matter. He was Harry Potter. 

And Draco was a Malfoy. If he didn't work, he would lose his job. All because he was on a different side of the war - all because he didn't carry his name like a prize. Pushing his peaches away, Harry deliberated, coming to the conclusion that he didn't quite know which was worse. 

Harry glared at his remaining peaches with disdain as he was forced to remember a poem he had to identify in his Muggle school. "Merlin." He groaned, that must have been more than thirty years ago now. And the information had rendered useless. He let out a jagged breath, a bitter laugh following as he cast a quick 'scourgify' on the dishes. 

They'd started to pile up in the sink, which was hardly surprising. He was usually the only one home these days. A wave of sadness hit him unexpectedly when he thought about it, the cutlery and pans clinking softly against each other in front of him.

He'd never considered himself lonely, he had Hermione and Ron and their extended family, (both ways). He had a few people he considered friends; Dean, Seamus, Luna, Neville... he used to have drinks with some of his co-workers at the Ministry too. But that was before his workload had started piling up, before he stopped flying regularly and definitly before they stopped seeing him as The Chosen One. 

Taking a plastic container from the fridge, Harry shoved it into his bag, ideally wondering whether he'd be able to sneak a coke into his office. 

"Our office", he corrected himself shortly. For all the asshole that he is, and for all the terrible things that made Draco, well, himself, that wasn't one of them. At least Draco would never paint him as saviour. 

***

When he got to the office he was proven right. 

"You're late Potter." Harry almost snickered as Draco's voice wafted up from the window. He was stood, looking out onto the grounds, with a heaving sigh, he turned, still determinedly not looking at the obstruction that was Harry who crowded the doorway. 

All in all, Draco looked a bit... regal. Especially for a Friday morning in Harry's stuffy office. Harry stifled a laugh, covering it with an ill-improvised cough. He looked like a renaissance painting - all doe eyes and immaculate dress robes. Harry didn't comment though, he didn't fancy getting in a conversation with Malfoy of all people about Muggle things he wouldn't understand. He also didn't plan on making a fool of himself just after 8am without some sort of caffeine in his system. 

"Dorothy! Coffee? Please?" Harry posed it as a question - if an exasperated one - like he always had. He knew that he didn't have to; it was part of her job, but there was no use being rude about it. Draco gave him a sidelong glance, swirling a teaspoon around his tea with his wand. The grating of porcelain against metal gave Harry a headache. 

"If you hadn't noticed Potter, it's Friday." Draco flashed Harry a self-important grin before going back to his too-sweet tea. Harry glanced at the clock before sighing. He was right. Friday. 

Vaguely, he remembered that he'd granted his overworked assistant the day off. If it had been an off the cuff thing it would have gone over his head completely. Unfortunately, it wasn't. In order to allow her leave, he had to schedule a fifteen minute meeting with Minister Shacklebolt. It was a waste of both of their time, but the ministry seemed to be still stuck in the 18th century with some things, even with all their recent advancements throughout all departments. 

Big changes were working their way into Ministry affairs, and unfortunately, as a result, the smaller projects were being moved to the side or being put on hold completely. That included eradicating the needless permission from higher-up's to allow you're own staff leave. (Shacklebolt claimed it wasted everyone's time and Harry was inclined to agree). 

He was dragged out of his whirling thoughts by Malfoy. Where they were previously swirling with Ministry law, his kids, Ginny's ever-nearing away game and of course, his unmade coffee, they were now filled with the best way to hex Malfoy without being pulled into Shacklebolt's office. 

"Go make your own coffee you lazy bastard. Stop moping". Harry wasn't moping. Not really. He was merely tracing dejected lines over his new invigorated desk space.

A minute later, Harry sloped off to the coffee machine grumbling. He stopped just outside Dorothy's small desk space that jutted out from the hall. Averting his eyes, he made his way through a smaller door to the south of her desk. 

As the coffee percolator whirred to life, Harry instantly noticed how loud the sound was. The space was enclosed and unfamiliar. Small, neat rows of biscuits lined half open drawers and a potted plant keeled dejectedly to one side, almost seeking escape. It felt oddly intimate, all by himself. 

The kettle boiled and Harry jumped. Harry jumped about a foot, his feet hitting the tiles with an audible crack. Apparently Dorothy had taken her brilliant silencing charms with her because a second later, an explosion of laughter permeated the walls from Harry's office. 

"Asshole", Harry silently seethed as he poured hot water into his coffee. Then... milk. He couldn't find the milk! Grumbling, he opened and closed drawers, tapped tiles with his wand and even inspected behind the god-forsaken plant, which seemed to be leering at him now and not just grappling for the doorway. It was not a good start to his day.

"Where's the milk?" Harry strode into the room and, without missing a beat, slammed a steaming mug of black coffee aimlessly next to where Draco was leafing through his papers. Hot coffee jumped from the mug, rivulets of carob liquid staining their tails. The splash also managed shoot from the mug, a few inches to the left, the splash managed to decimate about twenty percent of his handout. 

"You've fucking ruined my stuff. And how would I know where the milk is?" Draco grumbled as he spelled the mess away, tightening the jute rope when it threatened to loosen and allow everything to spring free.

A disparaging smile marred Harry's features. "Well, you've spent enough time in the kitchen with Dorothy to know you're way around the tea tray have you not? It seems like since you came down here to harass me about my working conditions you formed quite a bond within a four hour timeframe." He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes baring down on Draco's lax form, almost through his skull. 

Shifting in his seat, Draco's eyes dropped to the rough floor underfoot. The icy fire behind his eyes burning with contempt. "I knew Dorothy before I knew you." He said it softly but the words carried in the near silent room. Harry much have looked perplexed because the clarification tumbled out of him in a short burst of smooth conversation that only a panicking Malfoy could maintain. "She was my father's advisor."

Harry closed his mouth. It had managed to drop open more and more with every utterance of Draco's small confession. Out of everything she had told him - and it was a lot - Dorothy hadn't even touched upon her employment under Lucius Malfoy. It would be fair for her not to mention it. He had been Voldemort's right hand and Dora probably thought she'd be fired, or at the very least, moved to another department. In an instant, it felt like something taboo. With the confession, heaviness descended onto the room, cloaking everything and pushing on Harry's chest like it never had before. It was ludicrous really.

"Milk?" Harry said weakly, the small crack evident in his voice.

It was as if nothing had happened when Draco spoke. "The milk is in the shrinking cabinet on the floor by the teaspoon container. Are you really telling me you haven't changed at all since school?"

"What's that supposed to mean!"

"That you're just as oblivious as ever. I'm surprised they let you into the Ministry at all, let alone the Auror department." The roll in his eyes was evident, almost tagged at the end of his sentence like a full stop. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief while retreating back to Dorothy's kitchen area, catching the tail end of an under the breath lament of "...famous Harry Potter that's why." 

That strange moment of unreality was hopefully just a hiccup in their working relationship. If there was anything Harry was uncomfortable with it was dealing with other people's emotional turmoil. Especially said turmoil from someone like Malfoy. 

***

Looking at the papers in distaste, Harry shovelled another load of suede into his mouth. 

"What's the case even about then mate? You've barely spoken about it." Ron sunk into a chair, long legs barely finding a place under the small, round table. 

Harry picked at the flecks of white paint before deciding on his answer. He smiled. It was cheeky and lopsided as he met Ron's eyes. "You know, I'm not actually supposed to impart confidential information about my cases onto inferior Aurors." 

Ron rolled his eyes, before digging his friend in the ribs. "Oi watch it. You're in my house!" 

It wasn't technically a lie - but it wasn't wholly true either, as cemented by Hermione's introductory cough in the doorway. Ron blushed hotly as his wife hiked Rose, her daughter, up onto her hip. Harry watched mutely at the show of man and wife bickering incessantly - followed by soppy eyes and open hearts. 

Hermione turned her gaze to Harry, sweeping over the almost empty plate in front of him. "At least you're eating." Her brown eyes softened, her smile, while small and delicate showed the signs of her age, smile lines evident at the sides of her mouth.

Harry again felt the pang of loneliness for Ginny. They weren't like that anymore. After James - and later, Al - had been born, Ginny had confided that the displays of affection felt forced, and she didn't want her children to grow up in an unhealthily false environment. So they'd stopped. Harry thought, with six brothers and a mother like Molly Weasley he'd take Ginny's lead on this. 

"The case?" Ron got up from the table, turning his back on the others as he went to check on the whistling kettle.   
"Coffee?" Was the first thing out of Harry's mouth  
"Yeah, yeah. I know." Ron waved his arm in the general vicinity of the door. Hermione huffed but took it as it was - she had to make herself scarce. 

In the old days it wouldn't have been like that - they would have all crowded around the kitchen sipping tea. Harry and Ron may have even thrown bits of biscuit crumbs at one another. Nothing was the same now. Someone had to be at least within earshot of the kids...

"Dad! James pulled my hair!"  
"It's not my fault it's too long!"

Harry sighed heavily, pushing the coffee Ron had placed down next to his dinner. He wandered into the living room and sighed as he saw the two bickering boys, their heads sticking out of the fire.

"Can't you see I'm trying to have adult time." Never the less a warm smile crackled around the edges of his "hard father" demeanour. "Go back to Luna and ask if you can help make cookies or something." A minute later the green flames shot up, dissipating again to reveal that his two children had actually taken him up on his suggestion. 

His return to the kitchen was much less enthusiastic than his departure. "Right. About the case..." 

***

It took about an hour to give Ron a rounded explanation. From Harry's point of view it had to be full enough an explanation for his best friend to be satisfied, but the information divulged couldn't send him into a frenzy either. It was a fine line and Harry felt like he was walking it in heels.

They were looking at something of magical variation but no one inside the ministry had been tipped off about what the object(s) would turn out to be, so the case had to be treated as something big, but not so that the entire department could go out on the field, Kingsley had said that he just wouldn't allow the rest of their staff out just in case it was a deterrent, masking for some other activity.

It's why he'd given the case to Harry in the first place. Although Harry had questioned whether it was because of his expertise in the field, he hadn't been away from his desk for so long that a job like this seemed to much for him to handle by himself. Kingsley had just repositioned his square-rimmed reading glasses atop his nose and re-iterated that it was the reason he was sending "Mr. Malfoy" with him. 

Harry didn't mention Malfoy to Ron. He debated with himself whether it would be information Hermione might like to know before deciding against it. Instead he thanked her for the meal before taking his leave.

***

The arrival back at the house went as smoothy as expected - he nearly threw up on his doorstep. Apparition never went well for him, especially after a lot of food. (Alcohol was another kettle of fish entirely). 

He was greeted by a letter, probably from a rather overzealous owl, considering the claw marks in the side. For some reason his first though was Draco. Assuming he'd found something on the case Harry ripped the letter open, shredding the delicate casing nearly in half. There was no damage to the letter. 

Unfortunately.


	3. Chapter 3

The letter was not from Draco. He should have known before he'd even torn it open, the Hollyhead Harpies insignia bleeding red wax at the join in the envelope. 

He stared at the letter. Blinking tears from his eyes. Everything felt sharp and hot inside his stomach as he read it again, hoping the words would change. Ginny was pregnant again. Six months, according to the letter. Why hadn't she told him before he'd gone away? He worried his bottom lip as he took in the information. 

The last line of her letter was what stuck out to Harry the most. In stark black ink the sentence; "Can I have you're permission to call her Lily?" 

No matter the sentiment behind it, Harry didn't really care. He'd barely known his mother and this wasn't a time to be mournful. It didn't hit him when it "should" like everyone thought it was supposed to. 

It was a soft sentence to end on, considering she hadn't told him in person. He would really have rather discussed it while she was with him and not in Wales. She was still playing Quidditch for fucks sake. While pregnant! What kind of a husband was he - to not notice a thing like that! 

He knew deep down, the reason why she didn't tell him. He would have stopped her from playing. He would have dropped the case too, asked another Auror to pick it up. But he felt justified - she'd barely been showing any sign of pregnancy. What did that mean? Was the baby sick? Underdeveloped? She hadn't told him anything. She'd just... left.

After half an hour the shock and betrayal subsided and then ebbed away leaving everything numb instead. He had to admit it wasn't much better. Wiping his eyes, Harry undid his trousers, venturing through the kitchen before removing his shirt as well and dumping both offending items in the laundry hamper out in the hall near the washing machine. 

The washing machine was something Harry had insisted on before marrying Ginny. She preferred to use spells for everything, having grown up in a wizarding household. Harry just found it unsanitary. At least that's what he'd told her when he realised he couldn't master cleaning spells like she could when she'd left for her first game. 

He'd bought it before owling her. She'd been furious. It wasn't their first argument but Harry saw it as a bonding moment after it was over, believing them to have come out the other side as a stronger couple because of it. Really, he should have seen that as the start of an irrefutable breakdown of communication. 

***

Draco said as much the next morning over donuts. They'd been Harry's idea. Sugary and syrupy and everything Draco would hate, is how he described them. That way he'd be able to have all four without looking greedy. Unfortunately, before he could even ask - at which he expected at least a polite no and at most full on revulsion - he was instead greeted with "I'm starving. I didn't manage to have breakfast, I was up most of last night deciphering the possible curses and jinxes we could be looking for." Then; "There are three possible locations."

Harry was lost, left glaring at Malfoy's long, pale hands as his forefinger and thumb connected around a second sticky donut. He seemed too calm. There was an investigation to be done into the backgrounds of the suspects and he'd have to interview some of them. So would Harry but it was different. For Harry the job was gruelling and impersonal, especially since no one from his own house was suspect. But for Draco... 

Harry knew from his school days that the Slytherin's were a tight knit community of sorts. Although many of them, Draco included, had a lot of awful qualities, they did have loyalty to their own.  
"Maybe you shouldn't interrogate the Slytherins."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harry knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Draco dropped his last fifth of donut, the powder creating a small cloud as it hit the paper plate beneath it. "What is that supposed to mean." 

Draco fixed him with a glassy stare, waiting in mock patience for an appropriate answer, even taking the strenuous effort of repositioning himself so he could prop his ankle over his knee. "So? Why shouldn't I interview the Slytherins?"

There was a waspish sort of snap to his voice, reminding Harry uncomfortably of Aunt Petunia. "Well..." he dithered, not sure on how best to explain himself without offending Draco any more than he already had. "I just don't think it'd be best practice to-" 

"Regardless of what idiotic thing you're about to say about my house loyalty getting in the way of my work ethic, anything's better than being stuck in this cramped shithole with Harry Potter and six feet of unfinished parchment. 

Draco was bent over a stack of paper, furiously scratching out and then re-writing various curses, enchantments and potions. He'd cross-examined everything else already and it was getting increasingly frustrating when he had to cross something else off the list - mainly because it was starting to look worse and worse from where he stood. The case was starting to look serious, possibly life endangering.

He wouldn't tell Harry that though. The man seemed to lack compassion. It may have been because he had to keep his emotions down for the job, but Draco thought it was more likely that it was the fact that he'd survived the killing curse twice. Hell! He was the master of death.

That realisation had reared it's ugly head at the wrong time because when Harry finally cleared his throat, Draco startled so badly that he rocked back in his chair, the legs thumping loudly on the solid floor. 

"Come in". 

"Draco Malfoy?"  
A severe looking Auror that Harry had only had brief introduction to when he'd admitted him for hire a year ago. 

His heart quickened, the pulse racing almost up to his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Harry willed himself to think about Ginny. He was married. He had a wife. He wasn't in a position to have a school-boy crush again, not with a baby on the way.

His voice came out scratchy when he tried to speak, when he tried to signal for the Auror to take Draco where he needed, he tried to tell him he'd be better working alone anyway. He swore that he tried. 

"He doesn't have permission to leave." Harry cleared his throat and stared down his nose through his glasses. He exacted authority like Dumbledore when he wanted to and Draco felt his chest constrict. 

"Sorry, Head Auror-" The Auror was cut off when Harry snorted. He knew he didn't pay as much attention to new charges as he should do, but was the margin really that large? "-I have to take Mr. Malfoy down to the-"

"Why?"  
Draco and Harry both interrupted. Harry would have laughed. 

"I've just been asked to- by Auror Weasley, sir." The hard demeanour had crumbled, leaving a boy in place of the man that had stood before the door before him not five minutes ago.

"No." Harry said flatly. "You've probably also been asked not to apparate while on general duty either but here you are. You are dismissed." 

Draco didn't take ten minutes to jump on the obvious bait that Harry had been left with. He almost welcomed the sentiment. "So, Weasel's decided I'm not good enough for you."  
He snorted at the implication, probably forgetting who he was insulting, because his mouth drew up into a tight line after the remark left his lips. 

He decided to tell Draco the truth. It might shock him into silence for once. "Yeah, probably because his sister's pregnant again and I'm spending all my time at work with you."

He felt a wrenching in his gut, the way he always did these days when he talked about Malfoy and Ginny at the same time. It was like they''re names shouldn't be uttered in the same breath, it was almost like a secret.

"It's a case! Weaslette is off playing Quidditch everyday! How about she come here and try to break this fucking-". Malfoy snapped his quill. Resignedly, he spelled the spilled ink away and shifted the broken quill pieces into the bin with a multitude of others. 

...Weaslette's pregnant?" Draco seemed to have finally caught up with the topic at hand amidst his quill disaster.

"Ginny." Harry said quietly, staring at his shoes. 

"Ginny then." Draco relented. Harry could have let Draco be sent... well, he could have had him fired, as simple as a snap of his fingers and... Draco didn't want to think about that too deeply. 

Harry seemed surprised but suppressed it quickly, instead offering Draco a weak smile. Betraying his hero status, Draco grudgingly tried to return it, a mutual understanding settling once more, like a knitted cloak, lopsided and heavy. 

***

"Found anything?" Lunch had been taken in office, a sordid affair of intermittent bits of food and frustrated grumbling over yet more stacks of parchment. 

"If I'd found something, Potter, I wouldn't keep it to myself." Draco was close to slamming his forehead into the slowly deteriorating stack of paper next to a half eaten tuna-cucumber sandwich. 

Harry snickered. "Eat your crusts."

"Shut up." A smile bloomed over Draco's gaunt features. He was almost pretty when he broke into smiles like that. Draco took a crust, levitating it above Harry's head. A small smashing spell broke the bread into pieces, crumbs falling onto Harry's head.

He shook like a dog, spraying crumbs across the desk and over the floor. None made it to the bin in the corner.  
"My hair!" It was halfhearted, but he still opted for a grumpy face, one that he'd used on his kids many times before. 

That smile cracked again, only a glimpse, before Draco schooled his features again. 

"It's nearly two."

Harry looked slightly perplexed before- "Oh shit I'm gonna be late."  
He leapt out of his seat, not bothering to spell the sandwich crumbs from his uniform before charging from the room. Draco shook his head. He could have just as easily apparated, but he supposed, with the reprimand he'd given earlier, he wouldn't risk setting a bad example. 

These days Potter was becoming an inconvenience. He was self-righteous and hurried and blundering and he kept sheets of parchment sprayed so haphazardly around his desk that it looked like a crime scene. 

Draco smiled fondly at the mess in front of him and a knot unfolded in his stomach. Harry might be a vagabond of the highest order when it came to cleanliness, but Draco was starting to become quite fond of his little displays of cheek and the smell of the foul cups of black coffee he insisted on drinking in the mornings.

Draco stared back down at his sheet of parchment.  
Memory charms... love potion... dragon smuggling... draught of living death...

He had to wait until Harry was back from interrogation before going over his findings but, finally, the list seemed to have whittled down enough for them to start making real progress, and maybe Harry could finally get out from under the cramped desk he'd been very nearly living at for the past couple of decades. 

***

Harry had come back looking deflated. "I barely got anything, but there's a sheet." If he wasn't careful he'd end up talking in broken sentences. Wordlessly he passed the papers over to Draco who perused them thoughtfully before uttering an almost inaudible 'thank you'.

Watching Draco work took a strain off of Harry that he hadn't realised he had. It wasn't subtle as he let his eyes glance off the blonde. Draco's head was bent, long hair falling in his eyes as he shuffled a few pieces of parchment around, licking his index finger every so often before returning to the notes he'd made. 

The case notes were sat next to Draco's left elbow, turned upward so he could easily read them. They had red quill scrawl all over them, Draco's un-naturally flamboyant handwriting distinct and glistening on the page. "I've narrowed down the suspects. Three Slytherin, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff."

"Mhm". Harry forced himself to listen as he outlined Draco's lips with the feather of his quill. It wasn't weird - he was bored. 

"You're not surprised?"

"Should I be?"

Draco had to admit, he had a fair point. Harry wasn't as prejudiced as most of the wizarding world - surprisingly - and even Draco had to grudgingly admit he probably wouldn't be surprised by much these days. 

Draco wasn't about to admit that his arse was starting to hurt from where he'd been sat on a hard stool for most of his shift. Of course he could have transfigured it but he was so engrossed in his work that it didn't cross his mind until he stood up. Moving from Harry's line of sight to disappear into Dorothy's room, he came back baring what he thought to be a present. A cup of tea for himself in one hand and a scalding black coffee for Harry in the other.

"Milk?" Harry glared at the coffee.

Draco was going to tell him he very well knew Harry didn't take milk. What he said instead was "We ran out yesterday." 

Before Harry could speak, a smirk spread across Draco's face. "And it isn't a good idea to apparate through Ministry grounds on the basis of how many wizards and witches inhabit the building daily. There must be safety precautions put in place before using apparition within the Ministry. You may not freely apparate within the Ministry of Magic."

He quoted cleanly from the Ministry Manual. Harry sat there, stunned. He didn't think anyone ever actually read those things, especially not cover to cover, well, everyone except Hermione. 

"You're not going to let up on that are you? I'm sorry I was a dick to Reynolds but it was for you!" 

"I think you're in love with the wrong person Potter." Draco snorted into his tea as Harry scalded, and subsequently choked on his hot coffee.

"You were talking about the case." Harry said thickly after he regained the breaths he'd been gasping after moments ago. 

"I've ruled out the use of Draught of Living Death - it seems whoever's behind this isn't clever enough for that - but Dragon Smuggling is profitable, so we should find information on Michael Holt as soon as possible. Pornography is also a-" His voice caught in his throat and Draco forced himself to swallow some tea before continuing. "a lucrative business so I'd suggest checking out-"

Harry cut him off this time "When did you have time to learn the term checking out?"

"What about it?" Draco snapped slightly.

"It's Muggle."

"Whatever." "We have to re-investigate Rowan Young and Jacob Lowe, as well as Harper Ellis, although she'll be tricky as it's side work for her and she's secretary to a rather wealthy businessman. He could possibly be her benefactor in some way."

The door banged open, a dishevelled Ron Weasley standing in the frame. "Harry. I need to speak to you. Now."

"About what? Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of Draco; he's heard it all already I assure you." Harry rose all the same, skirting around a stray piece of parchment that had floated to the floor. 

"No. I can't. I don't trust him mate, I'm sorry."

"Alright..." There was an air of uneasiness as Harry left the room, leaving Draco to mull over why Weasley seemed to want the entire department at his heels.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mate I needed you out of there." Ron was sweating ever so slightly, red hair sticking to his forehead, only interrupted by the intermittent freckles dotted along his forehead, reaching down to his broad nose. 

"Why?" He knew he sounded suspicious. Which probably wouldn't do well for Ron's speculations on Draco. As they neared the Common Lounge, discovering it was thankfully, emptying. A steady trickle of men and women left, but none entered. It was after lunch so it wasn't a strange occurrence. Harry suspected everyone had been stacked with more of a workload than they could manage, which was usual for the Ministry. 

He sighed as he slouched into an armchair near the entrance way. Ron was worrying his bottom lip between his front teeth. He looked depleted, mouth opening, twisting into a grimace, then shutting again before he gave up trying to be sympathetic. 

"The baby-"

"Oh God." Harry's mind suddenly registered the situation, immediately zoning in on Ron's worried face. "She isn't ill is she? I would have made her stay at home if she was-"

He went quiet for a minute, and then resumed in a shaky voice. "Lily is okay, isn't she?"

Ron looked taken aback. "Lily?"

"The baby." Harry supplied quickly, frowning slightly. Why hadn't Ginny told Ron her name? It all seemed like it was pointing to the worst when Ron put his beating heart at bay for a time.

"No, no mate. The baby - Lily is fine. So's Gin".

Harry's face was considerably less pale as the discussion went on, transferring to the much lighter topic of how Hermione was trying to make changes to another law within the Wizengamot, before Ron started up again.

"I hate to have to say this but... where were you six months ago?"

"Pardon?" Harry was completely focused on Ron, but his mind had trouble keeping up. It didn't help that Harry felt very much like Ron hadn't exactly started the conversation at the beginning, leaving Harry scrambling for the pieces. "I was here?"

"Here as in?" Ron made a vague gesture to their surroundings as Harry tried to elaborate.

"I was either in work or with the kids, I can't give you anything other than that, I'm afraid." Harry shook his head.

"So you didn't go to her last away game, like, at all?" 

"No." 

Ron's face fell and for a dreadfully long period of time Harry thought he was about to lose one of his best friends. He'd been working so much, and trying to keep everything afloat with his children that he was neglecting his wife. It had been a niggling thought for a while but now, with Ron looking so distraught it seemed to be the truth. 

While it may have been the case on some aspects of Harry's relationship, he needn't have worried. Because the worst of it was about to hit him in the face like a bludger. 

The bluntness that was so unmistakably Ron that in any other scenario, the lack of empathy Ron owned would have been laughable. But at this moment Harry should have been thankful. Ron was in a tough situation, he had been given the choice of siding with his little sister or his best friend, and he had chosen Harry.

"It's not yours." He said quietly. 

For Harry, the world went grey.

***

"I don't need any smart comments, you understand." 

He'd gone drinking the night before, obviously. Draco hadn't done anything to improve his mood when he'd been lightly informed that he looked like shit at 8 o' clock the next morning.

"I'm not one of your underlings Potter, you can't tell me what to do." 

“You might not be my department but I can certainlly tell you what to do.”

Draco's cheeks flushed scarlet, taking sudden interest in Micheal Holt's file. Harry, of course, pretended not to notice, a strange feeling coiling in his stomach, sitting comfortably for a long time after he looked away from Draco's chiselled jaw.

***

Harry was in a foul mood, taking the bait that was Draco's teasing too easily and without remorse, rounding on Draco as if he were a fly and Harry were Dionaea muscipula. He shook himself. He needed to stop spending so much time with Neville. 

None the less, it found him with his wand at Draco's throat, not for the first time since they'd known each other. But for the first time since they'd been case partners, Harry realised.

His grip didn't falter.

Draco looked him up and down, as if holding him in contempt. His icy eyes rising and falling so fast they looked like mercury. "When did you get to be this kinky, I had no idea."

For some reason, it felt like Draco was testing his limits more than usual. Or maybe, with all of his Auror training, and his years of being forced to work alongside and then actually get to know him, Harry had simply learned to ignore, or even humour, the jibes. But regardless of how good a Curse breaker Draco Malfoy purported to be - he had no right to make comments like that.

Harry's wand dug deeper, nicking a small amount of flesh as it went. Draco did not cry out. "Trouble in paradise?"

Harry noted that Draco hadn't said anything properly derogatory for a change, but his mind was still in overdrive. "You don't understand." It came out as a hiss so sibilant that he almost believed he'd gotten his ability to speak Parseltongue back. 

"Don't I?" Merlin, Draco's drawl was insufferable. It grated in all the wrong places, slipping together like sandpaper. Harry hated him. He hated that he had to work with him, he hated that he wasn't rotting in Azkaban along with his decrepit father, he hated the smug look that he wore perpetually and he hated that Draco seemed to exist to piss Harry off. 

But it wouldn't do him any good to kill a fellow employee. Especially one who worked for the ministry; it would cause another ruckus and Harry didn't much like paperwork, let alone the cells. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, even if Draco was an ex Death Eater, a Malfoy and a Slytherin, it wasn't justification enough. 

He withdrew his wand, slowly sheathing it, choosing instead to stick it in his front pocket. "I should go and check on the suspects you've narrowed down". His voice was hoarse and ragged, the sudden jump on Draco not doing well for his body. 

It came back to him, like a slap in the face.

Draco's divorce last year. It'd been all over the papers, especially the Daily Prophet. Page three. He didn't read the Prophet but it was unmistakably hard not to see the bold black print in almost every wizarding newsstand and corner shop in the country:  
Trouble In Paradise? the headline had stated.

"Harry?"

"What."

"You said you needed to go? And-" What Harry expected was some shape of an 'I'm sorry'. 

What he got was "Don't put your wand down the front of your pants, it'll get stolen. Or, knowing you, you'll spell your knob off."

Grudgingly, Harry moved his wand to his robes, sticking his middle finger up at Malfoy before banging the door shut. 

***

He stewed in his thoughts for a long time before the first suspect was shown in. It wasn't Malfoy's fault that his wife didn't love him anymore and went and fucked a beater from an opposing team or something. He growled instinctively. 

A voice yelped and Harry looked up to see the man at the door had shrunk back. 

"Auror Potter, sir-"

"Don't call me that." He snapped. 

"Maybe I shouldn't interrogate today. I don't know whether I'm up for it."

"I saw it in the papers. I'm sorry".

Harry swore under his breath. He'd almost forgotten how fast the Prophet worked. He wondered who'd gotten the information, and how. His face paled. He wondered if Draco knew already. And then asked why he cared. 

"Thank you". There was no use getting into every single one of his colleagues bad books, it'd just mean he would be pushed into taking sabbatical that he didn't want. Which would mean more time at home. With the kids... and Ginny. 

"Bring him in". He sounded weary. "Three in the afternoon and I'm dealing with this tripe". 

A young man who couldn't be more than twenty tentatively entered the room and sat down.   
"Look I don't know why I'm here, I haven't done anything illegal, I'm perfectly within my rights to work at the Fantasy Lounge!" It was rushed but Harry managed to get a Quick Quotes quill to hover in the air alongside his speech just in time. He concluded that the young man sounded nervous, but not guilty. 

However, he couldn't convict or dismiss someone based on an assumption. He went through the list. Name, age, place of work... Harry was tired, he realised, as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to bring the room, and the brunette in front of him, into focus.   
"If Fantasy Lounge is your alibi-"

The boy, Jacob Lowe, tilted his head. "Yes."

"We're going to have to take out reports of the location, gather at least surveillance of the area, speak to the operation's manager and then see if you're place of, um, residence is regulated and sanctioned correctly." He barely realised what he was saying, reciting the same sentence he had to recite for every hearing.

"We?" At this he quirked an eyebrow, which Harry noticed, for no particular reason, that his eyebrows were manicured. He shook his head before addressing the boy in front of him. 

"I have been assigned this case along with a Ministry issue Unspeakable- that is none of you're business, by the way - to investigate a probable potion experiment." He had cut across himself when he noticed the young men shift to open his mouth, presumably to ask him who he was working with. 

Technically it wasn't really classified information (due to the open case and Lowe's ready submission to be spoken to). Lowe had a right to know but Harry counted on him not knowing his rights, and he was proved correct when the boy asked nothing further. 

Dragon-dealing had been ruled out. The magical traces that had been picked up by the rest of the department during the interogations just didn't add up. Harry and Draco had spent hours the day before following that lead, Draco taking on the interrogation of Michael Holt after Harry fell through at the gruesome detailing of Dragon maiming. 

Draco had come out of Holt's interrogation with his fists balled and his teeth clenched. Harry made sure to sidestep him when he stormed into his office. He slammed the door with such force that a small, incomplete painting that had been up for years in Dora's office crashed to the floor. 

Everything had come through clean though, Holt had the steadfast alibi of one Charlie Weasley. Whilst the dealing of Dragon's was still technically illegal, Charlie had come in himself and testified that the Dragons were merely being relocated but, since Michael was a Slytherin, the Ministry was trying to get him in for something, he was sure of it. 

***

"Look I'm sorry about your wife but you don't have to take all your little fuck ups out on me." Draco tussled his hair out of his eyes with unsteady fingers. "Move out-”  
Then, after a minute of pondering “- Get a divorce." 

The way Draco had said it it sounded so simple. Go home, pack up, leave. It would have been, if everything wasn't so tangled up in emotions. Turmoil, betrayal, loss. Shards of love and early morning kisses tangling into the mix. Everything playing on repeat in his head like a barbed wire scrap book. 

Instead, Harry threw himself back in his chair, so heavily, that his neck clicked upon impact. "Fuck this". He thought he heard Draco speaking, but it may well have been the screech of larks outside. He just, didn't care anymore. With a sigh that wasn't quite resignation, he got up again. The chair creaked, protesting his removal. He turned to glare at it indignantly before all but ripping his coat from the back of the chair. 

"Tell Dorothy I'll be in Monday." 

He considered apologising to Draco, deciding against it. Instead, he left his office with an air of flamboyance that he hadn't seemed to possess before. 

"Hold on, where are you going?" It was the most confused Draco had sounded in years. 

"To get drunk!" Harry shouted back as the door banged forcibly behind him.

***

Harry pulled his coat more tightly around his middle as he pushed his way through biting wind. The sun was hanging just a sliver in the sky, the weak light splitting the clouds, and landing on the floor in front of him, a faint halo of pale daffodil. It was still too bright for such a dreary day. At least the winds felt his pain, he mused, as bitter winds whipped across his face, wreaking havoc on his already messy hair. 

He grimaced as the Leaky Cauldron came into view. Before stepping into the fierce heat of the pub, Harry shook his hair back into a vaguely recognisable shape. 

His work shoes clacked on the hexagonal porch tiles as he took his time removing his coat. He held the pub close to his heart, but the patrons would still be the same. Shaking his head, he hung his coat and stepped through the oaken doors of the Leaky, preparing for the onslaught of other pub-goers. 

Surprisingly, it was almost empty. A few elderly gentlemen were dotted around the premises, noses buried in newspapers. A younger woman, seemingly in her late twenties was sat on a stool near the bar, seemingly flirting with Will. 

The new barman had aged gracefully, his features still as sharp as they had been when Harry had first met him, but his hair was greying in places, giving him a sombre look as he graciously accepted what seemed to be a compliment, from the way the woman giggled. 

Without bothering to wonder why this girl wanted to seduce an old barman like Will, Harry made his way to the line of beers and spirits proudly on display. "Whisky please, Will."

"Harry, you look rough." Will said cheerfully as he poured a little too much whisky into a tumbler. "Are you going to pay too?" A half-smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, offset by rugged, stubbly facial hair that he was sure wasn't there the last time he'd dropped in. 

He was still staring while fishing around for some spare sickles in his coat pocket. "Aha!"

The girl turned a sidelong look at Harry before speaking, with a self-important tone that would rival Malfoy's. "Um, aren't you the one from the Prophet?"

Will grinned. "Which one, he's been in the last fifty."

"Can I have about ten more of these?" Harry asked, pushing the empty tumblr back across the bar to settle his head in his hands. He didn't care if he looked unflattering. He just wanted some peace, but then again, Grimmauld Place didn't seem too inviting, the Burrow held memories he couldn't stand anymore and being cooped up in his office with Draco sodding Malfoy would hardly be the best idea. He was still seeing everything in shades of grey. 

"Only if I can have a signed autograph from Harry Potter." Harry groaned at that, while the girl just openly gawked. Tom chuckled at the sight of both of them, but Harry held a hand out openly, despite his exasperation. "I was joking, son, I don't need one."

A strong twinge of pain hit Harry in the chest at that, but it was over-ridden by the slight joy of being called son. No-one had called him son in years. 

He tried to smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace as another shot of firewhiskey hit deep in his stomach. 

"You can't be Harry Potter. Harry Potter isn't nearly so old!" He'd forgotten the girl was still within earshot but, even to his surprise, he heard himself laugh. It had bitter undertones but the mirth was evident in his eyes. Maybe there were some good things in life after all. Even if it came in the form of someone almost young enough to be his daughter acting like an arrogant little shit. 

Acting like Draco had done. How he still did. 

Harry gratefully accepted another shot.


	5. Chapter 5

Since that first night, it seemed Harry wasn't short of drinks in his system. He didn't seem to become immune to the effects of alcohol though - he didn't really know whether to see that as a positive or negative. 

Apparently, his heart didn't cease to crack, even as he owled the divorce papers. 

He drank a lot. He thought about the curve of Ginny's back, and light that danced intermittently on her freckles in the morning. 

He drank more.

****

His head hurt. 

That was an understatement. His head was pounding, his throat was scratchy and his muscles sore. Most of all he was disoriented. The last thing he remembered was Tom's bar, with the twinkling lights and the man? At least he thought it was a man. It hurt Harry's head to even think about it for too long, the imaginary lights painstakingly bright behind his closed lids. 

When he opened them, after several minutes of pondering on whether it was the right choice, he discovered it wasn't. He wasn't in his own bed. He didn't even think he was in a bed. Trailing his fingers around an unseen floor, Harry located his wand and sighed in relief. Going to pick it up wasn't the smartest idea, though. Because he managed to unbalance himself from his precarious position, having leaned just a little too much to the right.

"Oof." Previously having been parked precariously on the edge of some nice feather-down, Harry found himself quite nicely acquainted with a large oriental rug. He began to slowly sit up, wincing every time he tried to open his eyes for too long, the room drifting warily. 

After not being able to pinpoint any of the hazy images, Harry opted to close his eyes again. He smelt strongly of alcohol and cigarettes? He'd never smoked in his life, why on Earth did he smell like cigarettes? More importantly, where was he?

He was used to this part. A bit too used to it, actually. The drinking. Waking up in a strangers house? That one was a first. Ginny would have his head when she got back.

He could almost hear the clang of reality before he thought it. Ginny didn't love him any more. 

And what did he get? A hangover. Groaning, he let his head loll back onto the soft cushion-y fabric he'd slept on, begging Merlin to stop making the room spin. 

"I have tonic, and water and your glasses."

Harry just nodded, listening intently to all the small noises that ravaged the house. A boiler rattled in the distance while a glass clinked near Harry's ear, presumably falling on a wooden table. The ever moving footfalls stopped shortly at the far end of the room, presumably near the door. 

"I'm sorry about last night. I was out of order." After a moment of deliberation the voice rose again, wavering slightly as it spoke. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want."

With that, the door closed, a resounding silence deafening Harry. 

Oh no. He didn't kiss anyone did he? Harry felt an immense pull in his gut when he thought about it, it felt like he was cheating on Ginny - he was cheating on Ginny. Wasn't he? 

He wasn't cheating on Ginny. 

The realisation hit him like a train.

 

***

"Do you want any breakfast?" 

"What?" He'd been glued numbly to the chair for the past half an hour with a - now - room-temperature water clutched in his shaking fingers. He was having a crisis and the man just comes in asking if he wants breakfast!

Harry's stomach gurgled. 

"Yes." He said dumbly. 

He didn't look up. 

Eyes still fixed to the carpet, Harry stood, shakily. His foot caught awkwardly on the carpet and he heard a faint bubble of amused laughter from the doorway as he almost crashed back onto the floor. Catching himself on the sofa, Harry was forced to look up as he righted himself.

"Draco?"

"Very astute."

Harry was blindsided. It didn't make a lick of sense. But, then again, it did. It was almost frightening that he hadn't realised it before; the blatant stench of cigarettes, the ostentatious living room, the accent, for Merlin's sake!

His memory of the night before was atrocious but, it was coming back in fragments. Emotions were the easiest to pinpoint. There was anger and crying, but no sexual... well, anything. (Tension or otherwise.) He didn't know whether to be relieved or not. On the one hand, he hadn't tried it on with Draco Sodding Malfoy. On the other hand, he'd been drunk and desperate and instead of looking for a one-night-stand, which - given the circumstances - would have been a more favourable outcome, he'd cried. 

He had to admit, it hadn't been the vibe he would have gone for.

And, it seemed, the day was only going to get better.

***

"I feel sick". Harry announced on their way to breakfast. He'd tried to persuade Draco to apparate, considering the biting weather but Draco had voted against it, stating both Harry's condition and how good fresh air was. Draco gave him a side-long glance as if to say 'I told you so'. 

Kicking a leaf, Harry grumbled incoherently until they came into view of a coffee shop, jutting obscenely from a row of posh, grey stone houses. 

"Muggle?" Harry's eyebrow arched. He didn't have the forethought to groan at how much like Draco it was of him. However much time he spent around the man, he just didn't seem to notice. 

"You like Muggle stuff". Draco shrugged before he swept his hand, barely biting back the remark about "ladies first" that sprung to his lips as Harry stepped forward, heaving the door open, hands gripped icily on the doorknob. 

Almost as soon as they were safely seated on uncomfortable white plastic affairs that barely passed for chairs, a waitress appeared with a notebook, pencil jutting from behind a slightly-elfin ear. 

Harry opened his mouth, before closing it again. His lips clamped together tightly as Draco ran his eyes down a menu without really looking at it.

Draco nods, curt but polite. "A full English and a cheese toasty please. Oh, and two glasses of water." 

The waitress nodded back before she and her hastily pencilled in notebook depart. 

Harry laughed. "A cheese toasty, Draco?" 

"Yes!" He sounded defensive and for a minute Harry could almost forget the ache in his chest and the whiskey burning in the pit of his stomach. 

A plate of steaming food had been presented to him and when he pushed the joy that was the poached egg into his mouth he could almost forgive Draco for ordering for him. 

"Why couldn't you have bought me coffee." Harry grumbled, his mouth full of bacon.

"You're in at ten." Draco reminded him. Steely eyes seeming to fix pointedly just above his brow. "And besides, you always find a way of spilling your coffee. So it's water for you" 

***

At least he didn't have to woe about his paperwork. Since his split with Ginny he drank and worked and not much else. 

Dorothy had asked about it but he'd just told her to leave him in his office. 

Thinking about it, with a clearer head and food in his stomach... Draco hadn't been in his office much either.

"Right." He wasn't going to make himself think about Draco not being in his office. It was his office for fucks sake. Draco had his own office, it was probably just easier to work in his. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Draco's eyes shifted to meet Harry's for the first time and he looks like a deer caught in headlights. It should have been a statement, blunt and knowledgable. But it's not, and for the first time Harry's happy Draco's posed a him a question he doesn't have to answer truthfully if he doesn't want.

"No."

Merlin he really doesn't want to think about lying face down in drool on Draco's sofa, or about bars or the Ministry or the case or - Ginny, he realises. 

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, he isn't consumed by her. The pain is still tender, but it isn't so raw that he has to spend every minute with her in his minds eye. Maybe, he too, didn't love her as much as he thought he did anymore. She was away a lot and they argued too much and suddenly he realises for the first time in a long time that he can't handle her flaws. 

The silence was wrought with tension. Harry spoke anyway. "I'll get better, maybe not fast, and I probably won't understand myself for a while but I think I'll live".

"You sound surprisingly rational." Draco's eyebrows raise a fraction.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He's not defensive. Not really.

"You need to stop drinking." Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry sniggered a little. "You're not my mother you know."

Raising his glass of water to his lips Draco muttered into it. 

"Bloody Gryffindors."

Harry fails to hide the ghost of a smile over the rim of his water

***

"Maybe you just weren't right for each other, dear." 

Harry's ears tinge pink as he tucks into dinner at the Burrow with Ron, Hermione and all the extra family they can cram into the kitchen on one evening. He mumbles something that sounds like maybe into his drink before consuming himself in home-cooking.

Harry found it awfully difficult to be polite and courteous to Ginny's mother while they talked about the divorce proceedings. He'd been expecting much more animosity but even though Molly was surprisingly warm, it didn't make him any more comfortable with the discussion. 

"How's the case love? Everything has to be taking a toll on you." 

Hemione nodded in a silent agreement while trying her best to duck out of the situation. 

Green flames roared from the fireplace and before anyone could raise a wand to lock the floo connection against the intruder, Draco Malfoy tumbled out, robes billowing behind him. If he weren't coughing from inhaling floo powder fumes he would have almost looked graceful. 

"Mrs. Weasley." Draco said stiffly. "I hope I'm not imposing.

"Auror Potter, a word?" He jerked his head up towards the darkening sky outside before sauntering off into the Weasley's garden. Harry huffed but he put his fork down before bidding hasty goodbyes. 

"What was that about you git, you're not my supervisor." Harry huffed, more at the biting cold than at Draco, small clouds of breath disappearing as fast as they were being created. 

"You're right I'm not." Draco paused for breath as he trudged through the muddy grass in sinking boots. "But Shaklebolt is."

Harry barked out a laugh then, biting down on the cold air as he did so. "Right, so you're expecting me to believe you flooed to the Burrow on Shacklebolt's orders at seven in the evening, while off the clock. You really think that I suspect you have no ulterior motives?"

Draco stopped walking and when he finally turned to Harry, flint grey eyes bore into Harry. He met the challenge in pure defiance and they stood, watching the colours swim in each others' eyes for just a beat too long. Harry broke the spell, tearing his eyes away from Draco and fixing them firmly on the floor below him. 

"So..." He scuffed the toe of his shoe without really noticing he was doing it. "Shacklebolt?"

"Yeah." Draco breathed it, and it caught the wind for a fraction of a second before he blinked himself back into focus. Taking a deeper breath this time, he tried again. "I tracked down a warehouse - East of here, near the sea - massive crates of love potion to be shipped Thursday."

Harry broke into a smile then. "Come on!" 

***

It didn't take them long to come across it - the intense magic thrumming through the air just behind an old brick barnyard beyond a nearby Muggle village.

"Wait. How did you-" Draco cut him off with silence, instead throwing him a slim glass phial, which he caught - just - fingers clasping the bottom just as it was about to shatter onto the pavement. The polyjuice shimmered in the waning moonlight that was just climbing the horizon.

Drinking it, Harry wrinkled his nose at the taste, stashing his phial in his cloak pocket as he snuck toward the barn, Draco almost on his heel.

"Muffliato." Draco whispered before crawling behind the vast expanse of solid brickwork. "Okay, I'll go in, pretend to buy and you can cuff them. Deal?" 

Harry nodded. Unfortunately, he wasn't as caught up on the case as Malfoy was so it was a lot easier for him to lead. Harry begrudgingly took his ministry issue robes as Draco relinquished the Muffliato spell and stalked behind the brick to make the deal.

Harry hoped his whispered magnification charm wouldn't alert anyone to his place of hiding, but he had to hear what was going on.

"Is this all of it?" Draco's voice. 

"Yes. Do you have the cash?" When Draco's reply seemed satisfactory, Harry exhaled, rubbing his hands absentmindedly on his jeans, waiting for the right moment. He didn't catch the what deep southern Scottish voice replied, as it was buried between the moving of large, crates. They seemed to be made from some sort of metal, judging by the harsh scraping sound that had made Harry leap from his place behind the wall. 

It should have been a smooth Incarcerous to bind the perpetrators, but Harry hadn't expected anyone else at the scene. A small mousy girl stepped from the shadows, fingering something in her back pocket. Harry suspected her to be a hostage.

"Draco, put you're wand down." Harry lowered his wand as he spoke, but it didn't slide from his grip as Draco complied hesitantly.

The girl twitched, her wand out in seconds.  
As soon as she'd captured Draco in a full body bind, she stalked gravely toward Harry, who had his wand trained at her throat.When she spoke, her voice was like treacle tart soaked in butter. So sickly sweet to the point of disturbing.  
"Imperio" was the last thing Harry heard, a soft melody to his ears as he floated through his feelings.

"You should have called for backup". Harry immediately recognised the voice, smooth and light as he struggled against the curse still holding. He assumed Ron was talking to Draco as he fought his way to the surface. 

"We didn't think we needed any." Draco's voice now. Slightly irate as his muscles tried to shake the tenseness of the Body Bind. "But at least now you have to admit to your precious wife that she was right.”


	6. Chapter 6

Harry's head throbbed as he digested the sick feeling in his mouth, groaning around words he couldn't formulate, he instead took the opportunity to sit up, realising that he could do so one his own accord. The room was a harsh clash of white and mint green, fuzzy outlines only appearing where the colours clashed. 

"I thought you'd learned never to trust the kind ones". The voice, apparently came from an irate Draco Malfoy.

Harry just nodded dumbly before falling back against the pillows. "I know but-"

He discovered he'd been in Spell Damage for two days. Draco had come out almost unscathed and was waiting for him to prop his glasses back onto his nose. They were cracked down one side. The woman behind the operation was in fact one of the suspects, she'd been let go after the first round of investigations that had concluded her place of work being the secretary of a high brow department official. No Auror had thought to check her credentials. 

She certainly had played her part well, irritatingly enough for the Ministry.

"But?" Draco prompted.

"She wasn't a Slytherin." Harry answered shortly, before clamping his hand over his mouth. 

"So you didn't have any means to suspect her - like the rest of your department, I suppose."Draco spoke through gritted teeth and Harry felt the icy tension that wafted between them. "She's going for trial Monday, as am I. You won't be attending since you did nearly nothing on this case, estranged wife or not." He huffed out a repairing charm before stalking gracefully from the room. 

"I did the paperwork." Harry groused before getting up and rushing after Draco.

***

"For fuck's sake you can't ignore me forever." 

Dropping a full-to-bursting binder on the table, Harry watched as Draco blinked up at him, sipping a cup of tea. He shrugged, putting his tea to the side as he started rifling through stacks of files and leaflets. He let out a small sigh before reaching over Harry's side of the desk and swiping a piece of paper away from him that was threatening to slide to the floor.

"Malfoy!"

"So it's Malfoy again now, is it?" His eyebrow arched prettily, which, for all intents and purposes, annoyed Harry ceaselessly. He bit back a response when Draco tutted and Harry let out an exasperated sigh at how petty the man could be.

"I also happen to need this sheet, Potter, if you hadn't noticed I've been at a trial and am currently up to my ears in parchment pertaining to the change in Magical Law so if you'll excuse me-"

"They're changing the law? That's brilliant!" Harry sounded incredulous. 

"Yeah well, you weren't any help." Bending his head to the table Harry saw the blush rise on Draco's cheeks as he peered over parchment without really taking any of it in. 

"Hermione?" He guessed. Suddenly it clicked. Draco's sweaty hair and sleep-deprived eyes at that meeting - they were all down to this.

Draco nodded. 

When the full realisation of the change hit Harry full force a minute later Harry got up, against his netter judgement, and enveloped Draco in a hug. When he pulled back his eyes were glassy, straying down to Harry's plump lips for only a second before giving him that look again - the one they'd shared a week prior in the Weasley's garden. 

"Fuck it." Draco's tight lipped manner was gone as he pulled Harry into a searing kiss.

Goosebumps trailed all over his body and wherever Draco touched tingled a little after the contact. Eventually Harry pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck so he could find somewhere to put his hands without fidgeting. 

"Maybe not in the office?" He said, sheepishly.

"Definitly not in the office." Dorothy huffed through a small smile as she came to collect Draco's empty teacup.

“Of course not Dora.” 

 

***

"Fuck." 

Harry carded his hands through his hair as he watched the sky deepen; stormy greys rolling over the deep blue. He blinked, watching his eyelashes flutter as he receded back into reality. He'd kissed Draco Malfoy. He'd kissed Draco Malfoy in his office. He'd kissed Draco Malfoy in his office - sober. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. 

Something - someone, Harry corrected - like Malfoy wasn't supposed to happen like that. You needed to learn Draco before you let him in. 

Then again, maybe not. Harry knew him better than anyone else, he'd wager. He knew how he took his tea, he knew he tapped his left foot when he got agitated, he knew he was annoyingly tidy. And, maybe best of all, Harry knew how to push Draco's buttons.

Draco had been stunned but he, too, had collapsed into the kiss, almost as if he too was desperate for the softness of affection. He'd let Harry lean down and cup a dark hand around his pale cheekbone, wrist resting against his chin as if Harry was holding the world in his palm. 

He hadn't noticed he wasn't thinking about Ginny.

***

Harry was panting, almost keeled over at the door with both hands on his knees. He'd tried to floo, which, looking back on it, wasn't the smartest of his ideas.

He'd only been back to the manor once, when a serious inquiry had come in and he'd had to (begrudgingly) ask Draco for help. Now, though, as he stood near the chimney where the floo connection had rejected him, he had to steel his nerve. 

He was sweating and his hair was plastered to his forehead as he stood at the front door. Harry didn't think he was ready. He suddenly felt delicate and fragile and very alone, with the manor looming before him. For some reason, he felt it would be one hundred times worse when he faced Draco again. It was like he was trying to orchestrate his own doom. He really wasn't ready. But then again, he conceded, when would he be?

Steeling his breath as the front door creaked open. The way Draco stood make Harry's breath catch in his throat and his heart hammer in his chest. His arms, folded across his chest, as usual. His muggle style shirt, still with some sort of fancy buttoning (old habits die hard) and his mouth, slanted into what could pass for a smile.

"Are you quite done staring at me?"

Swallowing thickly Harry drew himself up to his full height, (which wasn't very impressive, considering Draco was stood about three steps above him), he stammered out an unintelligible sentence. That was not how it was supposed to go.

What came out next wasn't much better. 

"It wasn't a mistake."

"Pardon?" Draco's eyebrows quirked, but he dropped his arms.

"I meant to kiss you." 

Draco huffed out a laugh then. "Did you now?" A pause. "Do you plan on doing it again?"

Finally registering what was being asked of him, he relented. Almost throwing himself onto Draco the only reply he could muster up was "Merlin yes". 

***

“Fuck.” Draco fell back against the silk bedspread, legs fanning out beneath him as he adjusted to the cool air fluttering over his exposed torso. His fringe hung in his eyes as he drew his knees up against his chest.

Draco was whining now, high and loud as Harry lined himself up with Draco's slicked hole. Pushing into Draco was like heaven, a type of intoxication that cleared his head instead of de-railing it. He felt the push and pull of Draco's straining muscles, the clenching of his thighs as he shifted to get more of Harry inside him.

Breathing ragged and heavy, Harry braced his forearms against the bedspread, angling his cock into the bundle of nerves Draco was so intent on him reaching.

Sweat rolled down Draco's chest as he arched into Harry's hips, rolling backwards and forwards in search of the tide of ecstasy. “Please-” He sounded more broken at every thrust, eyes set on Harry's face. 

Draco watched Harry Potter come for the first time in a long time. Watched his face change, morphing through stages of feeling as he came. 

“You don't hate me for this do you?” Harry asked softly, in between breaths. He stared at the ceiling.

Draco reached over, tracing patterns over his arm, the ball of his wrists, the cracks over his hands... Draco Malfoy had the sudden urge to learn everything about Harry, the same way Harry had unknowingly learnt everything about him.

“I won't hate you if you go and make me hot chocolate. Downstairs, cupboard door on your right.”

Harry groaned halfheartedly, making a show of belatedly moving his limbs from the bed and detangling himself from Draco. A chaste kiss was pressed to his forehead before he disappeared downstairs.

***

“Hot chocolate, your highness”. 

Folding himself up onto the bed, Harry wrinkled his nose before he passed Draco his drink, little marshmallows bobbing through a mountain of cream. He put his own on the nightstand, finding himself content with running a hand through Draco's hair as he drank.

Draco's hair was more ashy than he'd been in school. Now harry was up close he could see it was shot through with silver, the same silver that had an amazing dappling effect on his eyes when sun started to filter through the bedroom window. 

And before he knew it, Harry was seeing colours again.


End file.
